| I don't want to know, dear. It was Thursday, May 29th. Robyn Jackson, a little over a week into her nineteenth year of living, was absorbed in her laptop that was perched ever so possessively and appropriately on her lap. She was watching Heroes on Netflix, feeling like she was living up to the unemployed college kid's dream. Any time now her partner in crime, one Isabelle Moreau, would arrive and they would continue on their path to world domination. By... watching a performance of Hamlet. A phone call. It was Isabelle. She was running late. Robyn should bring a bottle of water. "I knew it!" she exclaimed as she set down the phone. A bottle of water, what must surely be a code for "something big is going to go down, be prepared in all respects." She desperately searched. She found. She conquered and ran upstairs in haste to continue watching Heroes. Damn those cliff hangers. Gasp! A figure was walking up her stairs! Robyn did not notice, Mohinder was dramatically saying something of extreme importance and she was mute to all but his words. {Shut your eyes quickly dear audience, this is one of the few scare moments of this story.} A hand reached for the door knob and turned slowly. Then... the figure emerged, bathed in light, unseeable, unrecognizable, Robyn was frozen in fear-- nobody EVER just entered the Jackson house without knocking! The figure raised one hand, palm facing Robyn, and shook it from side to side, saying: "Hiiiiiii." It was Isabelle. "Sorry I'm late." She was late. Oh, the horror. Five minutes later they were at the metro station, complaining about parking fees. Five minutes after that, they were seated in a metro car, complaining about Robyn's tuition situation {Robyn complained the most}. Five minutes after that, Robyn was musing on how her life seems to skip by five minutes at a time. Seven minutes after that, they were at Isabelle's dad's workplace, unaware of the adventure that was to occur. "Ah, the hybrid," Robyn purred, both pleased and frightened by the car's silence. "Yes, with this car we could surely... dare I say it... rule the world," Isabelle agreed. They set off. Driving through DC Isabelle and Robyn chatted and plotted, not particularly paying attention to anything outside of the car, nor the parents in the front seat who were apparently absorbed with directions. They arrived in the rich part of town and all were distracted by the beautiful and unaffordable houses. All of this was forgettable, however, in comparison to the world they entered as they pulled off the main road onto the road that took them into... The Park Of Doom. There are no directions through this place. There are no maps that show it. Compasses no longer work when you cross their borders. There are no signs except those saying "stop." A passing wanderer gave the befuddled troupe directions as convoluted as they were long. It involved a bridge, a long and winding road {resist the urge to sing, please}, a field of picnic tables, many left turns, a beach or something related to a beach, another bridge and finally a right turn. This was all that Robyn got from it, however, as eventually she lost track of his voice, rather thinking of a sign she thought she saw a while back that read "Hamlet." She dismissed this thought. Many illegal driving maneuvers later, they arrived at a parking lot that was not where they wanted it to be. Isabelle's father got out of the car and asked the car parked next to them if they knew how to get to the stage area. Victory! They did! It involved getting out of the confusing Park of Doom and gaining entry directly from the main road. And so they did. Once they escaped the Park of Doom and were back on the main road, Robyn saw a sign that she had seen a while back, one reading "Hamlet." She shook her head. She had known how to get there all along, but figured Isabelle's parents knew what they were doing. The story of her life. Once we got there, Hamlet was a hoot. And I mean that literally; the play itself was okay, but the guy playing Hamlet made it super enjoyable. At first Isa and I didn't like him... he was such an emo kid, but a badly portrayed one. He didn't pull of "sad" or "depressed." He pulled off somewhat whiny and attention seeking. Slowly, though, he grew on us. This was a funny Hamlet, we realized. If you just ignored his badly recited solilquies and focused on lines like "oh my prophetic soul," given as if he were saying "oh my god," or "all is not well," given as if he were in a pickle. On a related note, it's no longer popular to say OMG. Now it is OMPS. There was so much more than that, of course, but I've waited too long and now specifics are gone from my head, heh. You'd think that with all my spare time I'd have nothing to do but update xanger. But there's so much more! Like... lying in bed. Sitting on the couch. Watching things on Netflix. You know, the cool things. |
